


In Which A Human Is Jealous Of An Angel

by johnnygossamer



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-22
Updated: 2012-04-22
Packaged: 2017-11-04 02:52:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnnygossamer/pseuds/johnnygossamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean makes some observations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which A Human Is Jealous Of An Angel

Castiel stretches an arm behind his back, the shoulder blades shifting under rubbery, sweaty skin, unfamiliar and human. Dean watches from the doorframe of the bathroom, holding a rag to the wound in his arm, and he knows that Cas is anything but.

The angel moves with grace, as if every twitch and turn of his body is calculated by the heavens, executed in a body too small for all that it holds. It leaves Dean speechless.

A rough hand brushes over Castiel’s bare chest, brushing off gunshot wounds like dust. The clean expanse of his back dips into torn suit trousers, and Dean faintly wonders if Castiel’s heavenly powers extend to fabric repair.

Sensing eyes on him, Castiel turns slowly to meet Dean’s gaze with his calm blue eyes.

Struck wordless, Dean steps forward, and for the first time he’s the one to break the boundary of personal space. The angel’s eyes burn brandishing marks into his skin, but Dean can only watch him in awe—in all of his heavenly glory; his power, his strength, his loyalty.

His perfection, Dean thinks to himself, and he hopes Castiel has the decency to keep out of his head.

Hundreds of battles, thousands of fights—each he comes out unharmed. Perfect pale skin, feathery black hair unmussed, bright blue eyes looking to protect. These are the things Dean sees in the angel, human and yet not even close, all that power thrumming inside. His hand drifts to the unmarked chest in front of him, brushing across protruding collarbones. The blood and dirt clinging to Dean’s fingers leave a trail on glowing skin, a streak of plague on a body pure, and the angel’s eyes stay locked on Dean’s, curious and waiting.

It isn’t fair, Dean thinks. It isn’t fair that he can kill demons with a touch, that he can stab his brothers without breaking down, that his father is probably still alive after bringing him back from the dead. It isn’t fair that Dean has to try his best, fights his hardest and if it isn’t good enough—well, shit happens. It isn’t fair that Castiel walks off the battlefield looking pristine, clean-cut from a model magazine while Dean limps behind, following after.

It isn’t fair at all, Dean thinks, eyes still locked on the angel’s flawless form. He gets shot, stabbed, killed—with all the scars, physical and mental, to prove it. And here stands Castiel, bright and mighty, who can pull a blade from his heart without so much as a flinch, who can drag Dean from the depths of Hell itself. Here stands Castiel, in his flawless mind and flawless body, and yet chooses to follow Dean, and take his orders, and stand beside him in war.

Dean can’t fathom it. He can still feel Castiel’s eyes on him, his skin beneath his hand, and it all feels too perfect. Too inhuman, too impossible. Castiel is the soldier Dean has fought his whole life to try to be, and with the angel in his immediate presence, obviously effortless in his being, Dean can’t help but taste the bitter tang of jealousy mix with his awe. Not a single mistake, a single wrong molecule exists in Castiel, every inch of him perfectly crafted, and it makes Dean want to give up. He can’t compete with an angel.

And all Castiel does is lean forward and press his lips to Dean, kissing his thoughts away.


End file.
